by Michael Ross
Please do not assume from this that I have no feelings for you. I am deeply touched by your affection and hope to yet advance in your regard. Whatever happens, please know how much I care for you, and pray for you. If God permits, someday I hope to properly court you, as you deserve, if your uncle will still permit it.
I hope you will do me the honor of accompanying me to Captain Morgan’s Christmas party at the Mill Street house across from his mother’s, Friday December 23, at six o’clock in the evening. Please feel free to bring your aunt and uncle as an escort. If you will come, please meet me after school this Tuesday at the park in front of Morrison. I will count the hours until then.
Yours affectionately,
Will
He read it over three times, deciding it struck the right tone. He was not officially courting Jenny, did not have permission to do so. Technically he should not use her first name, but he knew Jenny would care little for that. He wanted her to know that he did have feelings for her, yet he did not wish to make a promise for love and marriage that neither of them might be able to keep. He wanted to soften the blow of refusing her uncle’s proposal, yet be clear that he could not compromise, even for her. Breaking his oath wouldn’t let him sleep at night—he’d feel ashamed and compromised in everything he did. He folded the letter and sealed it with some candle wax.
✳ ✳ ✳
Will hurried to finish his calculus exam, his mind distracted from integrals by his meeting with Jenny. Would she be there? Or would her uncle prevent her? Will spoke to Dr. Simpson as promised and he politely but stiffly received the refusal. Will was unclear what his attitude might be regarding further contact with Jenny, but he hoped that Jenny’s impetuous determined nature would persuade her uncle to let them continue meeting. After all, Dr. Simpson knew it was a point of honor.
Will finished the last problem and handed the paper to the professor, hurrying down the steps of Morrison to the park. Soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms drilled in the same area the Rifles used. Getting closer and crossing the street, both his father and Joe Breckinridge were among the soldiers. Will felt uneasy in the pit of his stomach. What if war actually came?
He waited anxiously at the edge of the park, scanning the streets and the park itself for any sign of Jenny. Her school should have let out half an hour ago. He stamped his feet and moved about to ward off the cold. His mind filled with foreboding, yet inventing a hundred excuses for why she might not come, but still care for him.
After what he judged to be another long half an hour, a doctor’s buggy with a familiar horse approached. As it stopped at the edge of the park, Will saw Jenny and her aunt, driven by a servant. The servant helped first her aunt, then Jenny down, and attended the horses. Jenny did not wait for her aunt but rushed over to Will.
“Will! I knew you’d wait!”
“You got my letter? You’re not angry?”
“Yes, I got it. I am of course disappointed, but I understand. At least sort of.”
Her aunt came over at a more sedate pace.
“I’m not so sure Uncle Tim does, though,” Jenny continued.
“Yes, I’m afraid he can be stubborn, especially where Jenny is concerned,” said her aunt. “But he’ll likely come around. In the meantime, we wanted you to know that Jenny and I will accept your invitation to the Christmas party. I’m afraid my husband will not attend. He doesn’t want his patients thinking that he supports Mr. Morgan.”
“I’m sorry he feels that way,” said Will. “But I am delighted that you will come.” Embarrassed, he flushed and said, “I’m afraid I can’t offer to pick you up except in our farm wagon.”
Jenny’s eyes danced in amusement at his discomfort.
“Don’t worry, Will. We’ll meet you at the party,” said Jenny. Her aunt politely withdrew back to the buggy, leaving Jenny and Will a small amount of privacy, yet she was still close by.
Jenny faced Will, with her back to her aunt. He seized the moment to take both her hands in his. “Jenny, I hope you know how much I care for you. I’ve thought of you night and day the past few weeks. Being with you, well, I feel like I’m skipping on the clouds. But I know that there’s this business with slavery, and some say there will be war. I care for you, but I don’t want to promise too much yet. I couldn’t bear to break my word to you. It means more to me than even my promise to Captain Morgan.”
Jenny’s face glowed, then sobered. “I understand, Will. I care a great deal for you too; you know that. I’m afraid I haven’t been very proper, hiding my feelings the way a young woman should. But I don’t know how to not be myself, either. My heart sings when I’m with you. I don’t know how not to show it. I do hope you’ll consider the things my uncle has said. He’s not a man given to hasty conclusions.” Nodding toward the field, she said, “And your father and your friend Joe are on the other side. Please think carefully what you’re doing, Will. For both our sakes.”
He released her hands. “I will, Jenny. Pray for wisdom. But I know God wants us to honor our promises. And I think if you come to the party, you’ll see that Captain Morgan and the fellows in the Rifles aren’t so bad.”
“Until then.” She turned and went back to the buggy, leaving Will hopeful but concerned. How could he overcome her uncle’s opposition?
✳ ✳ ✳
Will nervously drove the buggy to Morgan’s Mill Street house. The horse and buggy were a recent gift from Hiram. He’d explained to Captain Morgan about bringing guests to the party. Morgan smilingly agreed, and even advanced Will enough to buy a new suit for the occasion. Now Will was in his unaccustomed finery, uncomfortable in his starched collar and wondering what Jenny and her mother would think of it all. He took a deep breath and, exhaling, saw the cloud of steam from his breath in the frigid air.
A slave took the reins of the buggy as he dismounted. Will went just inside the fence to wait for Jenny. With Hiram’s gift, he could have changed arrangements and picked them up. He wanted to surprise Jenny with the buggy and his new suit, hoping her aunt would allow them to drive the few blocks back to the Simpsons’ alone after the party.
After about ten minutes, Will saw the Simpson buggy arrive, with a servant driving. Mrs. Simpson and Jenny were in the rear seat. Will stepped forward, brushing the servant aside, to help them. Jenny wore a bright blue gown with a pink rose pattern and lace at the neck. Her pink wrap matched the roses in the dress. She smiled at Will and blushed as he held her hand getting off the carriage. Mrs. Simpson smiled politely, but her pursed lips and wrinkled forehead held a slight indication of disapproval. Will could not tell if it was directed at him or Jenny. The servant looked at him haughtily, as though annoyed at having to be lumped with the slaves as he tended to the horses.
“Good evening, Mrs. Simpson and Miss Morton,” said Will formally. “I’m delighted that you could come.” He bowed, and Jenny seemed to suppress a giggle. They each gave a slight curtsey, and accepted his arms to usher them into the house.
Captain Morgan himself greeted them at the door, all charm. “Good evening, Will! And who are these beautiful ladies?”
“May I present Mrs. Simpson and Miss Jenny Morton? Mrs. Simpson is the wife of Dr. Tim Simpson, with whom I believe you are acquainted. The doctor was otherwise engaged this evening.”
“I understand. My wife is indisposed at present. Welcome! I hope you enjoy the evening. Christmas is always an occasion to rejoice. Sid!” he motioned to a light-skinned Negro slave. “Take their coats, and show them to the parlor where they can get warm. Until later, ladies?” Morgan tipped his hat and turned to the next arriving guests.
As they walked to the parlor in Sid’s wake, Mrs. Simpson whispered, “That was uncommonly courteous of him. Not at all like the reports I’ve heard.”
They joined the group around the fireplace, near the Christmas tree with candles lit. Will recognized James West, Tom Longwood, Archie Moodie, Ben Drake, and Jessie Davis, as well as others of his company. There was a round of introductions of the men and t
heir ladies. One new man in particular caught Will’s attention. Basil Duke was a handsome young man twenty-one years of age. He was talking and laughing with Captain Morgan’s sister, Henrietta. He seemed to have an easy way with all the Rifles, joking and bantering. Will heard a rumor that he and Henrietta might become engaged.
Then someone proposed a Christmas song, and they all sang the new, “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing.” The mood was cheerful, and even Ben Drake came over to shake Will’s hand and meet Mrs. Simpson. Jenny gave Ben a polite but icy greeting, by Will’s estimation. Someone struck up a chorus of another new song, “Dixie,” enthusiastically sung by all of the Rifles. Mrs. Simpson and Jenny, unfamiliar with the song, stood quiet and slightly embarrassed at the unabashed Southern sentiment. Just then, Sid announced dinner. The fare was sumptuous, including turkey, oysters, sangaree, marmalade ice cream, baked beans, and potatoes. Much of the dinner conversation centered on the execution of John Brown in Virginia and his attempted slave rebellion. As the slaves served dessert, Captain Morgan opined, “John Brown got only what he deserved. He was a rabble-rouser in Kansas, with many deaths to his credit. It is God’s mercy that he didn’t get his hands on the Federal arsenal at Harper’s Ferry. Indeed, he should have known that the slaves would not join him. Why should they? Their masters feed and care for them. They have few worries and concerns. When a man buys a slave, it is a covenant to care for him. How else should they survive, not having the wit and industry of the white race?”
Mrs. Simpson fidgeted and then spoke, “But what entitles one man to buy another at all? What of Abraham Lincoln’s speech, where he said, ‘I think slavery is wrong, morally and politically. I desire that it should be no further spread in these United States, and I should not object if it should gradually terminate in the whole Union.’”
There was a stressed silence around the table for a moment, and then Morgan said, “Perhaps the rail splitter wants to take up the labor of the slaves and provide their upkeep as well. I can just see him bending to pick cotton and harvest hemp. Actually, I’ve seen pictures where he’d make a great scarecrow!” This received general laughter around the table, and Mrs. Simpson said no more.
“And now, why don’t we retire back to the parlor? There are some musicians who will help us to dance the remainder of the night away,” said Morgan.
Couples paired off, and a waltz began. The evening passed in a whirl. Will danced several times with Jenny, and just enough with other girls to be polite. Mrs. Simpson sat in a corner and drank punch, nonalcoholic. She declined all invitations to dance, even Captain Morgan’s gallant attempt. When at last couples began to leave, Will approached her with his proposal that he and Jenny be allowed to drive back to the Simpson’s alone, with her buggy following.
“It’s not quite proper. I doubt Dr. Simpson would approve.”
Just then Jenny came over, and hearing Will’s proposal, she added, “Auntie, please? It’s Christmas. You’ll be right behind us. It’s only ten minutes to home and Will is driving, not a servant.”
Seeing Jenny’s pleading gaze, she relented. “Well, all right. No detours. Straight home.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Simpson. Believe me, you have nothing to worry about,” said Will.
They went out into the cold, and a slave brought Will’s horse and buggy. Will helped Jenny into the seat, then mounted the driver’s box, released the brake, and chirruped to the horse. He did not hurry, taking it at a slow walk. He smiled when Jenny slid over close by him.
“Will? I don’t understand Captain Morgan. He seems every inch a gentleman. I know he’s been generous and nice to you, kind of like Uncle Tim with me. Nevertheless, he owns the slaves. He seems to treat them all right, I guess, but kind of like young children, even the adults. And that Sid—did you see how light colored he was, and how much he looked like Captain Morgan? Your Captain Morgan is a confusing man. There’s a lot to admire, and yet….”
“Jenny, you just don’t know him. You should see the way he treats everyone in the Rifles. Like family. Everyone knows, if they have a problem, just go see Captain Morgan.”
“Maybe so. But something about him just doesn’t add up. I’m afraid, Will. I may be only fifteen, but I just sense something about him. For sure, he doesn’t think much of the Negroes.”
“But Jenny, he cares for all his Negroes. He takes care of them, just like he said.”
“Owning slaves is evil! Oh, Will! I care so much for you! I don’t want to see you swept away in a senseless war. Please! For me ... just think again about leaving the Rifles. Then at least if war comes, you’ll have a choice.”
“I have a choice, now. I’ve made that choice. We’ve been over this. I can’t go back on my word. I can’t let the fellows in the Rifles down. What if the Northerners make an army and invade Kentucky? Shouldn’t I defend my family, my home? Shouldn’t I defend you?”
“All this talk of Northerners and Southerners makes me crazy. Why can’t we all just be Americans and Christians? The Bible says that there is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus. Why can’t we all just be one people? I know you care about God.”
“‘Wherefore putting away lying, speak every man truth with his neighbor: for we are members one of another.‘ If I quit, then everything I’ve done is a lie. Is that what you want for me?”
“No, but…”
“There is no but. It’s one or the other.”
Jenny silently slid away, and they finished the drive in silence. She refused his help down, lifted her skirts, and jumped. A petticoat tore, but she ignored it. She almost just went in the house, but then turned. “At least pray, Will. Promise me you’ll do that. There has to be a way. What if you asked Captain Morgan to relieve you of your promise? Have you thought of that? Anyway, I had something for you.” Jenny reached into her reticule and pulled out a piece of needlework. She handed it to him, bound with a bow.
“I had something for you too.” He handed her a small box, wrapped and bound with yarn. “Open it.”
She opened it and found a silver pin, a Mary Luckenbooth pin from Scotland. “Oh, Will! It’s beautiful. However did you…?”
“Not half as beautiful as you. Think of me when you wear it.”
“I will. And think of me when you pray.”
Her aunt’s buggy drew up and she walked away, into the house.
✳ ✳ ✳
Julia fussed and fumed. She packed and repacked her borrowed steamer trunk three times, trying to decide how to make the most of a meager wardrobe. She was traveling north with Hiram and his mother, to meet the rest of the family. Her father and Hiram met a week or so ago, under the eagle eye of Hiram’s mother, to conclude a marriage contract, according to Swedish custom. The Swedes thought the actual marriage ceremony a formality that came later. They would not yet share a bed, bowing to American custom. Julia was uneasy. She had grown to appreciate Hiram, his gentleness, and humor. His mother was an altogether different matter. Julia did not know what to make of her, and constantly felt that she didn’t measure up to some undefined standard.
Of course, Julia had no dowry, beyond a few blankets and other items Albinia was sewing for her. She could hardly match the economic status that a wealthy Swedish family would enjoy. It mattered little to Hiram. In fact, against custom, he gave her father a handsome Percheron draft horse and buggy. Hiram had been teaching her to drive a horse. He felt it silly for a woman not to know how. It was common in the old country, he said. He had given her a sum as well for clothes, but there was no time to have them made before the trip. They were to leave in three days.
Again she despaired of how to make scarves, stomachers, and accessories interchangeable enough to make her appear to have more than three outfits, which was all she owned. Finally she closed the trunk, latching it, and sat down on the bedstead, almost ready to cry. This was her chance, wasn’t it? Her chance to break away from the humdrum and work of the farm. She could
learn to move in society. She wouldn’t have to worry about whether the harvest would be good, or what yokel might try for her hand with her father. This was what she wanted—to marry a rich man. Then why did she feel so unsure? That contract business made her feel like Hiram was buying a prize cow! However, that was ridiculous—she knew he cared for her. She treasured the memory of the evening by the lake. She knew she wasn’t that pretty, like her sister. She still wondered at times about Hiram choosing her. What did he see in her that she didn’t see herself? She wasn’t silly enough to think a girl like her could choose and marry for love. It was a miracle someone wanted her at all. She shook her head, just as Pa called from the outer room, to see if she was ready yet. She pulled on a bonnet and set her jaw. This was her chance! She resolved to make it work and be the best wife to Hiram that she could.
“Ready, Pa!” she called, making her voice firm. She pushed aside the blanket divider to indicate her father was welcome to enter. He came in and stopped, just looking at her a moment.
“Well, look at you! Pretty as can be! I declare, Julia, I can’t believe you’re goin’ off to be married. Seems to me you were only born yesterday. And here you are, lookin’ like a fine lady!”
“Oh, Pa! Don’t tease me! I can’t bear it. You know it’s not true.”
Robert looked surprised, then amused. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Jule. You should take a better look in one of those mirrors the Johannsens likely have. And see yourself on the inside the way God sees you. You’d be surprised!”
He went over and picked up her trunk, taking it out to the buggy.
Sara, Lydia, Will, and Albinia crowded around, giving hugs and offering congratulations.
“Well, milady, if you’re ready, your carriage awaits. Promise you’ll write to us. And if you get bored with the ladies’ teas and charity events, come see an old farmer sometime.”
“I will, Pa. We will come back to visit when we can.”
She and Robert went outside, and he loaded her trunk into the new buggy. The horse was hitched, standing and waiting. Robert began to climb into the driver’s seat, when Julia said, “Oh, please, Pa! May I drive? Hiram’s been teaching me. I suppose his mother will have servants to do it, and I may not get another chance soon.”
